


Tumbling Down

by cmk418



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmk418/pseuds/cmk418
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You had watched him for years, but you never thought it would play out this way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tumbling Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cccccontroversy (leroux)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cccccontroversy+%28leroux%29).



> Written for the offseasonmatch challenge for the prompt "hero worship". Thanks to cccccontroversy for the fabulous prompt and silver_spotted for running the challenge again this year!

You had watched him for years. You watched him controlling opponents, stealing the puck easily, always, _always_ , directing opposing players away from the net. _How’d he do that?_ you wondered, as you analyzed his play, slightly disappointed when it looked like it mostly came down to instinct. You watched, imitated, and occasionally were chastised by your coaches for going too hard at someone. Apparently, your coaches didn’t accept “But Chris Pronger does it” as an excuse.

And, God, those hits. You’d re-watch the better ones until fine lines appeared around the edges of the picture from rewinding the tape in the VCR. You’d make Keith watch them with you sometimes, but he didn’t get it. Mostly, it was just you, late at night, in your room, wondering what it would feel like to have that body slamming up against yours.

You were fifteen years old when he won the Hart and Norris trophies. Scouts had started to pay attention to your play and you tried especially hard to impress the scout from Saint Louis. You had this unbelievable fantasy about putting on a Blues jersey at the draft and getting a congratulatory phone call from the man himself. You wanted to play, but most of all, you wanted to play on Chris Pronger’s team.

Apparently though, the hockey gods decided that you weren’t ready for that honor and in a cruel twist of fate, you were drafted by the Chicago Blackhawks, Saint Louis’ biggest rival. You didn’t get to play right away, the team wanted you a little more seasoned and then the fucking lockout happened. By the time you actually suited up in a Blackhawks uniform, Pronger had been traded to Edmonton.

You finally were able to share ice with him in November. You’d been having a good month so far, hitting your stride, scoring goals and starting to eat up the ice time. 

“Seabs has got a crush,” Vandemeer said. You felt yourself blushing to your ears. You didn’t think you had made it that obvious.

“Why him?” Duncs asked.

“What do you mean?” You’d shown Duncs enough of Pronger’s highlights to get him to admit that “yes, Chris Pronger was good”. 

“He’s kind of an asshole.”

“He’s the best defenseman in hockey,” you replied, which actually did very little to counter the asshole argument.

“Better than Lidstrom?” asked Arnie.

“Well, yeah.” Because to you, it was that obvious.

“He’s not better than us,” Duncs said, sounding more than a little annoyed with you. “Not tonight.”

“Right,” you replied because you felt you had to, not because it was necessarily true.

On the scorecard that night, Duncan’s prediction was accurate. You were better. Well, actually Duncan was. And the team won, which was the most important part.

Over the next few years, you concentrated on your game and didn’t pay much attention to other things. You played Pronger’s teams occasionally, but the opportunity for interaction wasn’t there.

Until 2010. Until Canada.

You nearly walked into him that first day in the dormitories in the Olympic village. You felt two hands on your shoulders, stopping you and heard a quiet, “Easy there, Seabrook.” You looked up into his face – he was wearing glasses, which somehow made him look all the more attractive to you. It took a moment to sink in that he actually addressed you by name.

You must have been standing there looking like a complete idiot because the next thing he said was “You okay there, Seabs?”

You blushed under his attention. That felt a bit physically impossible though since all the blood in your body seemed to be racing south. Something that you needed to turn off before he…

“Olympics, yeah? Does it to me too,” he said grinning. Then he strode away, leaving you standing in front of the room you shared with Duncs trying to will away your erection.

For the next two weeks, he was everywhere you were. You practiced together, had meals together, and traveled together back and forth to the arena. He grinned that sweet, slightly gapped tooth smile as he caught you staring at him for the umpteenth time.

You received the full-force of that grin after Sid threw the puck past Miller. Everything else seemed to jumble together in this mix of _joy, joy, joy! We won gold!_ Fans screamed, guys started flying off the bench in Sid’s direction, and you found yourself slammed into the celebration, Chris hugging you with every inch of his body.

Your body recalled that at the party later that night when strong arms wrapped around you when you were arguing with Duncs about whether Sweden or Finland had better defense. Duncan’s eyes had widened and a low voice that you had heard in your dreams, said “Gonna borrow your teammate for a minute, Keith.”

His breath had tickled your ear and yes, now was definitely the time you needed to get anywhere else. You turned and followed him out the door into the hallway.

“Heading back to Philly soon,” he said, as if you hadn’t thought about that often these past two weeks. You were aware that the meter had been running on this incredible scenario from the beginning.

“Yeah, me too. Chicago, I mean. Not Philly.”

He stopped in front of a door, drew out his keycard and placed it in the lock. You watched in fascination as the green light flashed and was still flashing as he pushed the door free of the latch. “Come on in, Seabs.”

You took a deep breath and stepped inside the room. You had a second to notice that the abstract artwork in Chris’ room was nearly the same as the room you shared with Duncan, only in green instead of blue. The next thing you noticed was that Chris was taking off his shirt.

“You want a drink or something?” he asked. You shook your head. You’d had more than a few shots at the party.

“You look a little nervous,” he said, before adding, “You wanna fuck me?” 

“What?” you asked because it was _out there_ now and if you were ever going to do anything about it, this was the opportunity.

He moved closer to you, crowding you so that your back was against the door. “You look at me like you want to know everything about me. Figured you might want to know this too.”

He wasn’t wrong. Once you’d reached that certain age and realized that you wanted men more than women, you’d wondered what it would be like to be with him. You never thought it would play out this way. You’d always imagined the two of you in the equipment closet of the United Center, either with you sucking his dick or with him fucking you into the wall.

You saw his eyes drift down to where your dick was forming a tent in your pants. He was as patient as he was on the ice, waiting for you to make a move. Your left hand moved to his side, trailing up his naked skin. You didn’t know whether to kiss him or not. He began to walk backwards toward his bed. You weren’t worried about Nieds coming into the room any time soon – when last seen he was in an animated conversation with an awestruck Drew Doughty.

You stepped out of your clothes as Chris watched you from the bed. The sudden onslaught of nerves felt rather silly considering you’d paraded around naked in the locker room less than twelve hours ago. But you weren’t aware of anyone giving you the overt looks there that you were getting now. Chris smiled appreciatively as you prepared yourself, slipping on a condom, rubbing lube over your erection with long slow strokes.

You watched as he slid his pants and boxers down his legs, kicking them onto the floor. Now that you were able to look your fill, you could honestly say that he did not disappoint. “Do you want me to…?” you asked, gesturing in the vague direction of his legs.

“Not too much,” he said. “I want to feel it.”

And holy shit, that went straight to your dick. You didn’t normally get off on causing other people pain so you still made sure he was prepped enough to satisfy both of you.

Chris was a pushy bottom. He’d give you directions. “A little more. Yeah, that’s good. You can go faster now. More, more, that’s it. Faster.”

And then came the moment when the world shifted on its axis. His legs tightened around you and he panted out, “Give it to me good, daddy.”

You were lucky that your body seemed to be handling this pretty well on its own at this point because your brain suddenly shouted out _What the fucking fuck!_ He started to come and you kept pounding away, pushing the word “daddy” out of your mind with images of Sid’s goal and the mental mantra, _Gold. Gold. We won. We won. We won. Best in the world._ It was enough to send you over the edge.

You collapsed on top of him and he took your weight easily. You pushed the hair away from his eyes and kissed him once on the lips. Everything felt different now. The pedestal was gone and your idol had come tumbling to earth in the most unexpected way possible.

He still was a great fucking defenseman. And you had moved closer to being in that elite class by winning gold here in Vancouver tonight. 

There was still the matter of winning the Stanley Cup, but you had a feeling that it would come.


End file.
